Aha the Big Bang
Aha the Big Bang, I hear myself say.
How can it possibly fit in my mouth?
The start of it all a lump on my tongue.
Quiet. Fear is a bird-flock that rests in a tree.
Or is it words that huddle together
ink-black on the branches. It is a form
of panic that wells up in me and bursts from my
throat like a flock on the rise. The cosmosunfurls its wings. We flap, holler and shriek.